


Secret Admirer

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is leaving gifts for Camille.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crush

**Author's Note:**

> It's Tuesday, so here's a fluffy story.

It all started with flowers. 

Camille walked into the station and set a small bouquet of flowers on her desk. Richard knew she had flowers growing at her house, but she had never brought any to work before.

“Are they from your garden?” he asked.

“No. I found them on my doorstep this morning. I guess I have a secret admirer.”

“Was there a note?” asked Fidel. He dared to glance quickly at the Chief, but saw not a flicker. So not from him, then.

“No, nothing. They’re nice flowers, but the vase isn’t exactly impressive.” Camille held up the flowers to show that they had been placed into a jam jar full of water.

“I don’t know, Camille,” said Dwayne. “It’s sort of cute.”

“Or not,” said Richard, frowning. Camille wondered if he might be jealous, but was soon disabused of that notion when he added, “Could it be some kind of message, something from someone you arrested in the past?”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

But Richard was in full detective mode, “Fidel, check prison records to see if anyone Camille helped send away has been released recently. Camille, how much have you handled that jar? Do you think we could get any prints other than yours?”

“I’m sure I’ve smudged anything that was on there. Richard, it’s nothing.”

-o-o-o-o-

The flowers were soon forgotten due to a rash of burglaries in a new hotel. A few days later, Camille went home for lunch and returned with a package.

“My gift melted!” she said, as she set something wrapped in a paper towel on her desk.

“What is it?” Richard moved quickly to look at the object.

“It _was_ a chocolate bar. I didn’t see it this morning, and it’s been sitting out in the heat all morning.”

“Good that you handled it more carefully. We should be able to get prints this time. Fidel!”

“Right here, sir.” Fidel already had his gloves on and carefully slid the very sad chocolate bar into an evidence bag.

“Excellent. Prints, and while we’re at it, tell the lab to check the candy for poison.”

“Richard, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sorry I even brought it here. I thought it was kind of funny. I mean, who would be silly enough to leave chocolate sitting out in this climate?”

“Chief?” Fidel was looking closely at the evidence bag. “I don’t think it’s poisoned. Some ants got into it, and they look healthy enough.

“Have it tested anyway.”

Camille sighed. 

-o-o-o-o-

Not surprisingly, the lab results came back negative. No poison and the prints were not on file. There was one interesting bit of information in the report. The prints were small, probably from a child.

“Oooh,” Dwayne laughed. “Camille, I never knew you were a cradle snatcher!”

She glared at him. 

“Maybe it’s a prank of some sort,” said Fidel. “You know, drive the grown-ups crazy with a mystery.”

“At least we can stop worrying,” Camille said. “It isn’t anyone in the system, just a kid having a little fun.”

-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, as Camille left her house, she saw a boy of about ten or eleven standing across the street. He appeared to be holding something in his hand.

“Good morning,” she smiled at waved.

“Bonjour, uh, good morning,” he replied, stashing a small stuffed animal into his book bag.

“Vous ete français?” she asked, crossing the street. 

He nodded. “But I am supposed to speak English.”

“And you do it very well. Do you live around here?”

“We moved here last month,” He pointed to a house farther up the hill. “We used to live in Troyes.”

“Near Paris? I’ve been there. C’est une belle ville, n’est pas? Welcome to Saint Marie. My name is Camille. What’s your name.” 

“Je m’appelle Jean-Claude.”

“Well, Jean-Claude, how do you like it here?”

“It’s hot.”

Camille laughed, “I should introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s from England and he complains about the heat all the time. What school do you go to?”

“Holy Cross.”

“My neighbor goes to Holy Cross.” As Camille said this, a girl emerged from the house next to Camille’s. “Here she is! Do you know Janelle?”

Jean-Claude nodded and blushed. And Camille solved the mystery! Poor Jean-Claude had the wrong house number! SHE wasn’t the object of his affections, it was Janelle. She quickly thought of a way to help.

“Janelle speaks some French. You could help her with that and she could help you with your English.” Camille waved to the girl, “Janelle, do you know Jean-Claude?”

The usually gregarious girl just nodded. Camille bit back a smile. They were both so sweet! She crossed the street toward Janelle, and Jean-Claude followed her.

“You two should get moving. Don’t want to miss your bus.” They started down the hill and Camille called after them, “Janelle, show Jean-Claude how well you parlez français!”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille sank into her desk chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’ve been dumped for a younger woman.”

All three men looked up. Richard couldn’t imagine someone dumping a woman like Camille, and nearly said so. 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” said Fidel, looking sympathetic. 

“What happened?” asked Dwayne.

“My admirer had the wrong address.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thought he was leaving gifts for the girl who lives next to me.” Camille told the story of this morning’s revelation. Fidel could have sworn the Chief looked relieved.

“So what do you think it was, this morning’s gift?” Fidel asked.

“Some kind of stuffed animal, maybe a little kitten or puppy.”

“That’s sweet,” said Fidel.

“I know. They looked adorable walking down the hill to the school bus, trying to keep a conversation going. I don’t know if he’ll work up the courage to give her the gift, though. He seems very shy.”

“Perhaps if she gives him a little encouragement,” Richard’s comment seemed to come out of nowhere, so he added, “Um, you know, you said you suggested they help each other with their languages. She could, I don’t know, ask him how to say something nice in French.”

“I don’t think she’ll come to me for relationship advice, but if she does, I’ll keep that in mind.” Camille was quiet for a moment and then added, “It’s sad to think someone is madly in love with you and then discover it was all a mistake. Ah well, it was nice while it lasted.”


	2. Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff for Tuesday!

Camille was surprised when a few days later, a bouquet of flowers appeared on her doorstep. The flowers from Jean-Claude had probably been cut from the garden at his house. These were the sort of flowers that came from a florist, but they weren’t in a formal arrangement. They were in a plain drinking glass, the kind that anyone might have. Still, it was a step up from a jam jar. 

Now that Jean-Claude had found Janelle’s house, Camille had seen them walking to the bus together each morning. So there was no reason for the flowers to be from him. Since the only people who knew about the gifts were her three colleagues, she had only three suspects. No, only two. Fidel wouldn’t do this. Dwayne probably wouldn’t, either. At least not like this. He’d do something at the office so they all could have a laugh from it. 

So that left Richard. He didn’t seem the type for practical jokes. Still, she had no other suspects. She supposed she could ask the florists in Honoré if he’d bought flowers. There were only two shops, plus the three flower vendors at the market. But yesterday wasn’t a market day. No, he’d have bought them somewhere else. But where—of course! He’d gone to Government House for a meeting yesterday. So he could have bought the flowers then. The glass could have come from his kitchen. She had no idea what sort of glasses were in there, probably a mixture of odd glasses, so even if she looked in his cupboards it would be impossible to tell if anything was missing. 

It was possible that someone else might have left the flowers. If she asked Richard straight out and the flowers weren’t from him, she’d feel foolish. And if they were from him, he might be embarrassed. Camille bent down to look at the glass. It didn’t appear to have any fingerprints on it. Should she take it to the station and let them check it for prints? Or would he know there’d be no prints because he’d wiped the glass and worn gloves? 

She took the flowers into the house. They were very pretty, although they needed rearranging. She took a few out and put them in a small vase. She arranged the rest in the glass. 

Camille dawdled so that she would be the last to arrive at the station. She set the small vase on her desk and sat down.

“More flowers, Camille?” asked Dwayne. “I thought your gentleman friend had found someone else.”

“Oh, he did. I see him walking Janelle to the bus each morning. But I seem to have a new admirer. There were lovely flowers on my doorstep this morning. I just thought they were so nice I should have some of them here. The rest are at home.”

“Is that the vase they were in?” asked Richard. “We could dust it for prints.”

“No, this is mine. They were in a glass. I took a good look at it. There were no prints.” As she answered, Camille thought she saw a flicker of a smug smile so she decided to try to get a bit more of a reaction, “The glass is pretty generic, the kind anyone might have. You probably have some like it.”

Richard knew she was fishing, but he kept his expression neutral. Years of keeping his feelings in check were paying off. He wondered if he should take up poker.

“I suppose I could ask my neighbors if they’ve noticed anyone around early in the morning,” she continued. Still no reaction from Richard. 

“Maybe Jean-Claude saw someone on his way down the hill,” Fidel suggested.

“I’ll ask him if I see him tomorrow. Good idea, Fidel! Anyway, I think the flowers are lovely, even if my admirer didn’t want to tell me who he is.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille’s secret admirer was forgotten when they had a murder to solve. A young woman was found strangled on a secluded pathway at the botanical garden. 

“Such a beautiful place for such a cruel crime,” Fidel commented.

“But cleverly chosen,” said Richard. “The foliage is thicker here than anywhere else.”

“Yes, it’s very private here,” said Camille. “It’s fairly well known as a proposal place.”

“There used to be benches along this walk, but they’ve been taken out,” said Dwayne. “I wonder if there were too many couples lingering here after she said _yes._ ”

“Interesting that you know about that, Dwayne. I wouldn’t have thought you were into gardens and flowers and so forth,” said Richard.

“This path is romantic, Chief. Of course I know about it. I know all sorts—”

“Spare us the sordid details, if you please.”

“Right, Chief,” Dwayne grinned. Richard shook his head.

After they finished collecting evidence and documenting the scene, the body was removed and the team split up to talk to employees. Richard and Camille found the Director in the orchid garden. The man had nothing to say that was helpful. He and his office staff had been together planning an upcoming event all morning. He provided a list of employees and said he’d make them available for interviews. No, he didn’t know the victim. But the gardens were popular, so he wasn’t likely to remember any one visitor. 

They talked for a few minutes about the orchids. Camille admired a one plant with red and yellow flowers and asked if it was difficult to grow. The director suggested she ask one of the gardeners or the horticulturist. He was an administrator, and not an expert on the details of gardening. She jotted down the name of the orchid and hoped to find out more about it.

-o-o-o-o-

After a few days of questioning the staff, checking hours of security camera video, and interviewing people who knew the deceased they were down to two suspects.

“I hope it wasn’t the boyfriend,” said Camille.

“He’s the stronger suspect,” Richard replied.

“I know, but imagine being led to a secluded spot known for romantic proposals, and then being attacked! That’s cruel.”

“Murder is cruel, Camille, regardless of the location.”

“It’s the boyfriend.” Dwayne interrupted the conversation. “I got confirmation on the coworker’s alibi. Yes, the guy was sweet on her, but he was with the beach cleanup volunteers that morning. It was a church group, and even the priest vouched for him. Gotta be the boyfriend.”

After they made the arrest, Richard said he wanted to go out to the botanical gardens to tell the director that they had solved the murder, so he would transport the prisoner to Government House for holding until his arraignment. 

Camille rose from her chair and picked up her purse.

“Where are you going?”

“With you?”

“No. You need to stay here and finish the report. Dwayne, if you’ll take the prisoner out to the Defender, I’ll take him from there.” Richard looked at his watch. “By the time I get back, I expect you’ll all be having a close-the-case drink. I’ll see you there.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard arrived at La Kaz bit later than Camille expected. Catherine plugged in the kettle, and soon he was sipping tea.

“Ah, I almost forgot! The director was pleased that we kept the case quiet so he sent us gifts.” Richard handed out small cards.

“What’s this?” asked Dwayne.

“Membership. You can take your lady friends on romantic walks without paying an admission fee. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should have declined the gift. Don’t want you wearing out the paths.”

“No, Chief, no worries there. Take a woman to the proposal path and she gets ideas.”

Fidel laughed and said, “I’m glad I didn’t propose to Juliet there. I’d hate to have a good memory stained by violence.”

“Where did you propose?” asked Camille.

“On a walk on a beach.”

“You couldn’t come up with better than that?” asked Dwayne.

“Dwayne,” said Camille sternly. “It may not be original, but it’s classic and romantic. I’m sure it was lovely, Fidel.”

“Well, it worked, so that’s what counts. What do you think, Chief?”

“I’m hardly an expert on romance. But if the right moment comes along, I say go with it, wherever you are.”

Camille shook her head, “Go with it? Richard, I can’t imagine you’d be spontaneous like that. You would probably spend months planning the perfect proposal, leaving nothing to chance.”

“Nothing wrong with a little planning.” Richard finished his tea and said he was going home. The others left shortly after that.

When Camille got home, she noticed a plant on her patio table. It was the orchid she had admired. She carefully lifted the pot and picked up the note that was under it. The message had been written in bright green ink. It said, “For Camille from your secret admirer.” The handwriting was uneven, an obvious attempt at disguise. _Someone_ was going overboard to hide his identity. Had _someone_ gone to the shop at the botanical gardens that day?

-o-o-o-o-

The station was quiet the next morning. Camille started to fidget. She knew the orchid had come from Richard, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She thought about saying nothing to see if he’d be unable to sit on the secret. But she knew he could outlast her. Arrgh! The man’s emotions were so thoroughly under control. Go with the moment, indeed! As if he ever would. Her patience soon ran out.

“Richard?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know anything about _Epidendrum radicans?_ ”

“Is it contagious?” asked Dwayne.

“No!” Camille replied. “It’s a plant.”

“Epi what?” asked Richard as he began to type. Camille repeated the name and Richard typed and hit the _Enter_ key.

“Ahh,” he leaned toward his monitor. “ _Epidendrum,_ a genus of orchid, various colors, including red. Grows in a variety of places, supposed to be easy to grow in a garden.”

_Very good,_ thought Camille, but the Internet had been ridiculously slow that morning. He couldn’t possibly have found so much information so quickly. 

“Thanks. I tried Googling it a bit ago, but the net was slow. I’m still waiting for a search for something else.”

Neither Dwayne nor Fidel had an interest in orchids, so they stopped listening to the detectives. Camille looked at Richard, waiting to see what he would do. He brazened it out by clicking with his mouse.

“Oh, it’s the one you commented on at the gardens. Very pretty.”

“Did you find pictures?” Camille rose and walked toward Richard’s desk. He clicked quickly.

“Drat! Signal’s out again.”

“Too bad,” she said softly, “I was given one, and it’s very beautiful. I want to be sure to take good care of it. There was a note with it.”

“Oh?”

Did Richard’s voice just get higher?

“Yes, not signed, and I didn’t recognize the writing. But a note is an improvement. Maybe he’s getting braver.”


	3. Chocolate, Strawberry, and Vanilla

A week later, Camille found a gift of chocolate truffles. The package of candy rested on a ziptop bag of ice. Very little of the ice had melted, so she ran to the street to see if she could glimpse her “admirer.” All she saw was Jean-Claude and Janelle walking down the hill, smiling and chatting. 

By the time she got to the station, she had a plan.

“You know what?” she said to nobody in particular.

“What?” Fidel was curious. That opening often led to lively discussions between Camille and the Chief.

“I think Jean-Claude is making progress with Janelle.”

“Really, why do you say that?” Richard asked.

“He wants to give her chocolate, but he has learned how hot it is here, and he wants to make sure it doesn’t melt. Suggestions?”

“In a cooler?” suggested Fidel. “You know, the little ones that you can pack a lunch in.”

“Depends on how long he needs to keep them cool,” said Richard. Camille noticed the plural. Richard knew they weren’t talking about _a_ chocolate bar, but _multiple_ pieces of chocolate.

“Perhaps a bag of ice?” he continued. Realizing that this was exactly what she had found this morning, he elaborated, “You know, bag of ice, then the chocolates, in a nice little gift bag.”

“Why all this fuss?” asked Dwayne. If I’m going to give a woman a present, I want to be sure she knows it’s from me. Get credit for it, you know?”

“Oh, Dwayne,” Camille grumbled, “You are so unromantic. I think having a secret admirer is lovely.”

“Until you find out it’s someone you don’t want,” Dwayne shot back.

“No, you can tell by the gifts if it’s someone you’d want. I mean, flowers and chocolates may be obvious gifts, but if the _kind_ of flowers and the _kind_ of chocolates are exactly my favorites, then I know he’s paying attention, that he really knows me.” She looked at Richard as she finished the sentence.

“You make it sound a bit like stalking,” said Richard uneasily.

“I don’t know. Sometimes a person can be shy or not sure of himself,” Camille replied. 

Richard shrugged, trying to maintain a neutral expression.

“Well, if I had a stalker, I could arrest him. But a lover…” Camille smiled and sighed. Richard quickly returned to his paperwork.

-o-o-o-o-

The next day, after a morning at a crime scene that was looking more and more like an accidental death, Camille drove Richard back to Honoré. 

“Ooh! Ice cream!” She stomped on the brake.

Richard looked at the little shack. The sign said the ice cream was home made. Did the guy really have enough electricity to make and keep ice cream in this climate?

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, Richard, it’ll be good.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve had his ice cream before. I’m having some. You may do as you like.”

Because Camille was so excited about the ice cream, Richard followed her to the shack. 

“Really?” she was asking as he caught up to her. “And they’re local?”

“Yes, I have a friend whose crop is just coming in now.”

Camille was practically swooning, so Richard asked. “What crop?”

“Strawberries! A few farmers are starting to grow them here. I love them, but the imported ones are never that good.”

“They pick them green and ripen them with ethylene. It is an efficient way to manage shipping, but you’re right, the results aren’t as good as fresh English strawberries.”

“Which came from France.”

“I think the strawberry is a New World food.”

“The cultivated strawberry is French. Google it when we get back to the station, you’ll see.” 

Richard looked at her suspiciously. It sounded like a wind-up to him.

“When I was undercover, I was at a party for a tennis tournament. Someone was going on and on about strawberries at Wimbledon and how English the tradition is. Someone else said they came from France. The two were arguing back and forth until another guest used his phone to look it up on the ’net, and sure enough. The garden strawberry was developed in France!”

She grinned triumphantly, and turned to the vendor to order “glace à la fraise, s’il vous plait. Cornet, deux boules.”

While the vendor scooped out her ice cream, Camille pulled out some money and said to Richard, “What would you like? My treat!”

“Vanilla. But in a dish.”

“A cone is more fun.”

“Not in this heat. And we’ll eat it here,” Richard pointed toward a picnic table. “I don’t want ice cream dripped all over the Defender.”

Camille rolled her eyes and paid for the ice cream. They sat on a bench, with their backs to the table. In order to preserve his jacket from drips, Richard had removed it. Camille stretched out her legs and leaned against the table. Richard glanced at her long, bare legs. It wasn’t fair. She could scamper about in shorts and little tank tops, while he had to wear a suit. At least it was pleasant to sit in the shade, eating something cold. 

“Ohhhh,” Camille moaned, “This is _so_ good.”

Richard found the moan unsettling, but the sight of her licking a long swipe of the ice cream was way beyond unsettling. 

“You really should have had the strawberry,” she said, eyes closed and savoring the taste.

“But I like vanilla.”

“All those exotic flavors, coconut, mango, and you chose vanilla.”

“It’s a reliable flavor. And I’m not sorry I chose it. This just might be the best vanilla ice cream I’ve ever had. Here, taste it,” Richard held out a spoonful of ice cream. 

Camille took it and nodded, “Mmmm, delicious. We do grow vanilla in the Caribbean, you know. It’s probably local, that’s why it’s good. Now you have to try the strawberry.”

Camille held out her cone, but Richard backed away. “It’s dripping! My dry cleaning bills are outrageous as it is.”

“Lean forward then, and if it drips, it will only be on the bench.”

Richard did as he was told, taking a small taste. Camille turned the cone toward herself and licked the same spot. “Mmmm,” she sighed.

Richard wondered if he would get any sleep that night.


	4. Giving Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy fluff Tuesday!

The team stood at a table, looking over the stray objects that had been found with the body. A shallow grave and a bunch of junk. It didn’t make sense. Richard moved past Camille on his way to the fridge. As he walked behind her, he said “Excuse me,” and rested his hand on her back for a moment. Camille tried to hide the hitch in her breath.

She didn’t know when it started, but she realized they had been touching each other more often. It wasn’t so unusual for her. She would brush dust off his jacket, or straighten his collar when he put his jacket on in a hurry. But it had become more personal lately. If he had to pass by her, instead of just “excuse me” and walking by, he now did as he had just done, gently touching her back or arm as he moved by. If she wanted to point out something at a crime scene, she would touch his arm when she said his name to get his attention. Camille wondered if these fraction-of-a-second contacts did to his heart what they did to hers. 

She also wondered how she could get her secret admirer to be less secretive. Two days later, she had her answer. She had gone to see her mother at lunchtime. One of the restaurant suppliers was there to deliver a new price list and tell Catherine about some new items. 

Camille listened to the end of the conversation, then asked, “Do you have any English foods?”

“It depends on what you want. We stock some of the more popular items, but less common things can be specially ordered. Your mother has the stock list. If you want something not on the list, I can look it up for you.” 

The salesman pulled out a tablet and waited while Camille flipped through the list. Remembering what she had said about her admirer knowing what she liked, she had to find something special. Tea was too obvious. Anyway, if she were going to buy tea, she’d ferret out the name of the store he thought was so special and order over the internet. She kept scanning, and then something popped. Now, what to go with it?

-o-o-o-o-

Camille was not good at hiding a surprise, so it was driving her crazy that she’d had no excuse to leave the station in the afternoon. She couldn’t leave the package sitting out for too long, so timing was important. 

Finally, other people’s bad luck became her good luck. Two calls came in. One was about a woman whose wallet had been stolen on the ferry. Ordinarily, Dwayne or Fidel would have handled the call, but the victim was a woman who was very upset, so Richard asked Camille to talk to her. Camille was barely out the door when the second call came. It was a missing person case, so Richard took Fidel and Dwayne with him.

Camille ran down to the quay and found the victim in the harbourmaster’s office. She managed to calm the woman and get a list of the items that had been in the wallet. She had to be honest and tell the woman the cash was likely gone forever. She told the woman how to call her credit card company to get the account frozen and also how to get a new driver license. The harbourmaster assigned some dockworkers to go through the rubbish to see if the wallet had been discarded, as so often happens after a thief has taken out the money.

The harbourmaster asked Camille if she could drive the woman home. Camille explained that the Defender was out on a call and she couldn’t drive Dwayne’s motorcycle. One of the dockworkers offered to lend Camille his car. 

Camille was in luck! The woman lived just a few kilometers past Richard’s house. Camille explained that she had to pick up a package and then they’d be on their way. At the victim’s house, Camille checked to see if anyone had tried to break in. She reminded the woman to be extra careful about locking her doors, because the thief would know her address if he had taken her driver license. The woman said her husband would be home soon, so she wouldn’t be alone in the house for long. 

After making sure that the victim was all right, Camille drove to Richard’s house and left the package. When she returned the car, she learned that the wallet had not been found in any of the bins on the quay. Camille made a note to have Fidel and Dwayne search the bins by the market, and returned to the station. 

She had just finished her report when Fidel and Dwayne returned.

“Where’s Richard?”

“It’s near the end of the day, so we dropped him off at his house.”

“What about the missing girl?”

“Not a lot to go on. No sign of a struggle. I’m betting runaway,” said Dwayne. “What about the thief?”

“Pickpocket, no suspect, no description. The guys on the quay checked the rubbish bins but didn’t find a discarded wallet, so…”

“Aw, no, Camille!” Dwayne groaned. 

“I called Sanitation. They’ll bring a pickup, so you can dump the bins into it and not have to pick everything up again. Sorry, but it has to be done.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was tired. A missing kid was almost as bad as a dead kid. The girl’s mother was understandably distraught. He wished he hadn’t sent Camille to the quay. It would have been better if she’d been there to help deal with the mother. If that was sexist, so be it. Camille was better with emotional people than he was, especially women. Okay, pretty much everyone was better with emotional women. But Camille had a gift for dealing with these situations.

He took out his keys and almost stumbled over a bag on his doorstep. It was an insulated shopping bag, the kind many people on Saint Marie used to keep food cool on the way home from the supermarket. A bow was tied to the handles, and a card dangled from the ribbon. It was a plain white index card, and on it someone had written a note in bright pink ink.

“For Richard,  
XOXO,  
Guess Who?!?”

He looked at the writing. It was uneven, obviously disguised. In fact, it looked a lot like the way he’d disguised his own writing. 

He set the bag on the worktop and unzipped it. Apples! Bright green Granny Smiths and what appeared to be Galas. Next he found a box of “assorted biscuits for cheese.” Dare he hope the obvious companion to this would be next? He looked inside and saw a large ziptop bag of ice and two square objects nestled in tissue paper.

He almost cried when he unwrapped them. Cheddar! Honest-to-God English cheddar! And, bliss! Stilton! He hadn’t had stilton since he’d been back to England for those few days. 

Well, that was supper taken care of! What a feast. But how did she—well, how about that! She’d been paying attention all those times he’d whinged on about the lack of proper English cheeses. What had she said about the orchid? If someone knows what you like, it could be a stalker. Or it could be a _lover_. 

He knew that she knew the gifts had come from him. And she knew that he knew that she knew, oh God, the repetition was making his head spin. They’d had veiled conversations, so he was fairly certain she’d appreciated the gifts. He hoped the reason she hadn’t come right out and said “Thank you” was because she didn’t want to embarrass him. But this gift said “thank you” very well indeed.

-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, as Camille was having breakfast, her mobile buzzed. She was surprised to receive a text from Richard. Was this a thank-you message? No, the text said, “Best bread in the market?”

She replied, “what kind?”

“baguette”

“SERIOULSY????”

“ha. yes, baguette”

“Ben’s Boulangerie.”

“Thx. can I get you something?”

“chocolatine, s’il vous plait.”

“ok”

Richard was the last to arrive at the station. He was carrying a small baguette, Camille’s chocolatine, and a small package, which he put into the fridge. 

“Thank you,” said Camille as she accepted her treat. “Why did you want a baguette?”

“I’m going to have a plougman’s lunch—cheese, bread, apple. The only thing missing is the Branston pickle.”

“Oh, sorry,” Camille was disappointed that she’d missed something. She covered by asking, “I mean, what kind of pickle is that?”

“It’s sweet and spicy pickled chunks of veg. Do you know what chutney is?”

“I’ve had mango chutney.”

“Similar consistency. The tang of the Branston pickle is the perfect accompaniment to cheese. And I happen to have some wonderful English cheeses. In fact, I had cheese and biscuits last night.” Richard sighed at the memory. Camille smiled. It felt good to have made him so happy. 

“What kind of cheese is it, Chief?” Fidel asked. 

“A very nice sharp cheddar and my absolute favorite, stilton. It’s amazing how evocative tastes and smells are. They can bring back happy memories. All it needed was the smell of a peat fire, and I’d have sworn I was in a country pub in England.”

“That’s the concept of comfort food” Camille said. “It’s a very personal response. For example, if you’re tired or not feeling well, the first thing you want is tea, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Not me,” said Dwayne. “My mother would give me tea when I was sick. To me, tea is medicine.”

“That’s my point,” said Camille. “You associate tea with illness. Richard associates it with caring and healing.”

“What about you, Camille?” asked Fidel. “What’s your comfort food when you’re ill?”

Richard smirked, “I bet I know. It’s that chicken soup, isn’t it?”

“Just because you didn’t like it—”

“I know! I shouldn’t make fun of it. I suppose there were times in Paris when you’d have given almost anything to have some of your mother’s soup.”

“You’re right. After I broke up with a man I’d been seeing for a while, all I wanted was Maman to hug me and feed me soup.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I made the soup for myself. It wasn’t quite the same, but it helped.”

"You know,” Richard mused, “I hadn’t thought about it before. When you can get the foods that are special to you, you can feel at home anywhere.” 

He looked at Camille as he said this. She wondered if he was trying to say more than just thank you.


	5. A Gift From the Sea

The day after Richard’s next meeting at Government House, Camille wondered if another gift would appear, as the others had after he’d been off on his own. She was disappointed when it didn’t happen. He had seemed pleased with her gift. Was it too much too soon? He’d said something about not being sure of himself. Did her attempt to give him a push make him nervous rather than more confident? Valentine’s Day was coming up soon. Maybe he was saving something special for then?

Richard _had_ bought a gift that day, but he wasn’t sure when to give it to Camille. After his meeting, he stopped at a roadside stand that sold fish cakes. He was always a bit nervous of “street food,” even in London where he supposed there was closer supervision from health authorities. But the Commissioner had recommended these fish cakes as something “close to English,” so Richard had stopped there. It was partly curiosity and partly fear that his boss would check on him. Not wishing to offend anyone, he tried a fishcake. And he’d been back after every trip to Government House. 

This most recent time, the owner’s daughter was there, selling handmade jewelry. A simple carved pendant caught Richard’s eye. It was made of a hard mineral, yet the only word he could think of to describe the pink color was _soft._

“Um, is this conch?”

“Yes, sir. Isn’t she pretty?” The young woman held up a whole queen conch shell.

Richard declined to ask how the woman knew the gender of the shell. Then he remembered that she probably was using a reference to the French word for conch, which might, for all he knew, be female.

“Yes, very pretty. But trade in the queen conch has been regulated since the decline in fisheries in the last decade.”

“Yes, sir, I know. We monitor our catch on Saint Marie, and comply fully with CITES,” the woman said proudly. Seeing Richard’s look of surprise, she added, “I’m a biology student. The jewelry is a hobby that makes a little money. We work very hard here to keep our sea catch to sustainable limits.”

Richard took the little paper she held out. It had a good summary of the CITES recommendations regarding the queen conch. It even mentioned that aquaculture was practiced in a few locations, although that practice had not reached Saint Marie.

“That’s good to know.”

“It’s good for the animals, not always good for business. Limiting the catch drives up the prices. That’s why Papa doesn’t always have conch fritters on the menu. Just Thursdays. You should come by on a Thursday and try one.”

Richard smiled. This girl was a born saleswoman. She could charm anyone. Well, she had charmed him, anyhow. Of course she did, she reminded him of Camille. So he bought the necklace and said he’d think about the fritters.

-o-o-o-o-

A few days before Valentine’s Day, Richard finally figured out what to write with the gift. Now he only needed a way to give it to Camille. It was small and could easily be overlooked if he just left it somewhere. He put the gift and the note into a small padded mailing envelope. If he couldn’t find a moment to go to her house and put it through the mail slot, he might have a chance to hide it in her purse. 

Luck was on Richard’s side when Dwayne and Fidel were patrolling the town and Camille went to the loo. He slipped the envelope far enough into the purse that she wouldn’t see it, but not so far that she’d never find it. Why did women carry so much stuff around?

Luck was on Richard’s side again when Camille got home. She set her purse on the edge of a chair and it tumbled to the floor, strewing much of the contents across the floor. She scooped up keys, wallet, hairbrush, notebook, pens, lip balm, and a hair tie. Then she saw something unfamiliar. 

She picked up the small envelope and saw her name. Progress! Richard hadn’t disguised his writing. She lifted the flap, and a pink pendant on a neck cord fell out. It was like much of the tourist jewelry from markets, but the quality of the carving and the color of the shell were much better than most. It was a heart in the loveliest shade of pink she could imagine. The surface was so smooth that she sat and ran her finger back and forth across it. 

A heart. There were probably lots of other shapes he could have chosen. But he chose a heart. And just a few days before Valentine’s Day. So did he give it to her before that day so she wouldn’t read too much into it? Or was he too eager to wait? And why hadn’t he included a note this time?

She turned the envelope over, but there was nothing written on the back. She looked inside and saw a piece of paper. The note was unsigned, but it definitely was Richard’s handwriting.

“I didn’t want to wait until 14 February. You’re always my valentine.”

-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, Richard eagerly awaited Camille’s arrival at the station. She had found a way to say something to acknowledge each gift. Would she simply wear it? Would she find a way to make a comment about it? They’d expended a fair amount of brainpower in finding ways to acknowledge the gifts without saying anything the boys would understand. 

He was disappointed when Camille said nothing about the necklace. Had she found it yet? What if she thought it was too personal? Was the note too much? Had he misread her hints?

-o-o-o-o-

Dwayne and Richard were the first to arrive at the station on Valentine’s Day.

“Good morning, Camille, you look like a valentine!” said Dwayne when Camille arrived. 

Richard looked up and saw what Dwayne meant. Camille was wearing a pink shirt. She rarely wore pink, and this shirt looked new. And it matched the pink of the shell heart exactly. Had she been saving the heart for a special day? Had she waited until she had the right clothes to go with it? Or was he reading too much into this?

“Thank you, Dwayne. I thought I would wear something special in honor of the day.” She lightly touched the shell heart as she said this. As she turned to sit at her desk, she smiled at Richard. 

“Good morning,” Fidel arrived carrying a plate. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Juliet made cookies.”

Being a gentleman won out over protocol, so Fidel offered the plate to Camille first.

“Oh! That’s so cute! The sprinkles have tiny hearts mixed with them, and what’s the other thing? Omigod! They’re lips! Hearts and kisses. Awww, how adorable!” 

As Fidel offered cookies to the two men, Camille asked, “Do you and Juliet have special plans for tonight?”

“Date night. Her mother is watching Rosie so we can have a romantic dinner.”

“That’s nice. What about you, Dwayne, big date?”

“Not this year. Charmayne was hinting around too much. Asking a woman out for Valentine’s Day is a statement, you know? I said I was on call.”

“Are you volunteering?” asked Richard. It had been his night according to the schedule.

“Sure. I’ll be hiding out at home, making sure I’m not seen out and about. I’ll take your night, Chief. Do you have plans?”

Before Richard could answer, the phone rang. He picked up quickly. “Honoré Police Station, DI Poole speaking.”

Pause.

“Right, we’ll get someone over to you as soon as possible. Let me pass your call to the Sergeant who will handle this.” Richard put the phone on hold and said, “Fidel, if you would please.”

Fidel took the details, assured the caller that he was on his way, and took Dwayne with him to handle the case.

“What was it?” Camille asked Richard after the others had left.

“Domestic dispute.”

“Oh, on Valentine’s Day? That’s so wrong.” Camille got up to take another cookie. 

“Is there any _good_ day for a fight and a breakup?” Richard joined her by the table, and selected a cookie.

“No, it’s always bad, but today makes it worse.” Seeing Richard’s skeptical expression, Camille said, “What?”

“I can’t imagine you getting dumped.” 

“It never came as a shock. Mostly it’s been a mutual loss of interest. Or an irrevocable argument.”

“Arguing? You?” said Richard sarcastically. “I’m shocked.”

“Very funny.” She shoved his shoulder playfully. “You never answered Dwayne’s question. Do you have a date tonight?”

“No. I suppose you do.”

“No.”

“Really?” Richard looked surprised.

“I’ve been keeping this day open, just in case.”

“In case… ?”

“In case my secret admirer decides not to be a secret anymore.” 

Richard saw that Camille was biting her lip nervously. It was rare for her to be unsure of anything. Did she really not know how he felt? Take a small step, he told himself, and said, “Remember when I said he might be shy or unsure of himself?”

“Yes, but I’ve been dropping hints. By now I hoped he might know,” Camille stepped closer to Richard and brushed a few cookie crumbs off his jacket.

Richard caught her hand in his and said, “He’s pretty much clueless about women. Perhaps another hint?”

Camille slipped her other hand up Richard’s chest and to his neck. “Remember when you said if the right moment comes along, just go for it?”

Richard wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“I think it’s time to practice what you preach.” 

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CITES is the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora. It is an international agreement that aims to keep trade in wild plants and animals to sustainable limits.


End file.
